


Biography: The Shepard

by flying_grayson_girl



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Autobiography, F/M, Post War, after the reapers, after the war, biography, the biography of commander shepard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flying_grayson_girl/pseuds/flying_grayson_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asked to record some questions for an upcoming biography, Commander Shepard thinks about the past and what made her into who she is when she gives her answers. Done in the style of Anderson's biographies in the Citadel dlc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> So after playing the Citadel DLC, I was interested in writing out some one shots like the biography data pads in Anderson’s apartment. I completely, 110 percent believe that Shepard would eventually get someone to type all of this up. It’s going to be random order, from childhood to even after the ending of ME3. Hope you guys enjoy!

So this is really happening. I never really thought the company would – I mean I know everyone wants to hear about me but – I think I didn’t _want_ this to happen, you know? Digging up the past is just…it’s painful sometimes. Things I’d like to forget.

I got the questions over here…and of course the first question is about my parents. You guys know how to pick ‘em, really.

I don’t really know where to start with them. I was born in North America, maybe in New York? All I know is that it wasn’t a pretty place; the place was crawling with criminals and aspiring mercs who wanted to find their big break. For the most part though, they ended up working for gangs and it was a big deal if you managed to suck up to the boss and earn a decent amount of money.

My parents were really young when they had me, according to my records. For the longest time, I didn’t even remember their names; god, I could remember the day they left as if it were yesterday, but the most I could remember of them was that my mom’s name might have started with a B. Hardly even saw my father most nights, so I was lucky if I even remembered to call him “dad.”

After the war…it took some coaxing, but I finally decided to look them up. Took weeks before the clerks even found my file in the system, back from when I was staying in the orphanage. Two names: Rebecca Shepard and Tom Hardison. Unmarried. Young. Gone by the time I finally found out who they were. I wasn’t like I was crushed by the news; what I remembered of our “family,” we weren’t exactly functional.  Older me realizes that the pack dad brought home wasn’t dessert for mom and dad; it was red sand cut with something that, truthfully, I don’t want to know about.

But there was a bright side to it all. Turned out that I had grandparents. My mom’s parents were loaded, an uppity family from Manhattan that didn’t want much from me until they realized that they were speaking to Commander Shepard, savior of our galaxy. I met them, once, and promptly decided that I was better off without them.

Now my dad’s parents were a different story. Turned out military was in my blood; grandma Roselyn was a Captain on an old Alliance frigate back in the day. Grandpa Will was supposed to be on the ship that would end up making first contact with the Turians, but mommy dearest went into labor early; apparently everyone was on good terms, once upon a time. Hoped my dad would follow their example, become an Alliance tech or something and support his new family. It didn’t…it obviously didn’t work out so well.

Will was gone by the time I went looking for them. Roz told me it was at home, peaceful. It was just his time. Kinda envy him; the day I die, I’ll probably go down fighting. Spectres don’t exactly have a retirement plan set up, although I haven’t thought to ask.

Roselyn was a communication’s specialist who analyzed signals. Stuff like confirming validity of stress signals to avoid unnecessary fights. And apparently she was damn good at it, but then she decides that she’s going to join the fight. The way she talks about it, her life didn’t start until the day she rushed into a battle.

It was hard, telling Roz everything that happened after her kid ceased all contact. According to her, one day Tom was in their lives and the next it was like he, Rebecca, and I didn’t even exist. Just…disappeared. I guess it happens, sometimes. Didn’t help that they were more worried about their next fix than their child or family, I’m sure. But now that I’ve met her, I don’t know how my father ever turned out like he did. I know she would have kicked my ass into shape; she’s a terrifying woman when pissed.

The rest of my childhood…I was tossed from foster home to foster home for years after my parents left. None of them were pretty good. Most of the time it was a poor family looking for another mouth to not feed while they kept the money. Years of improving the foster system and the government still can’t make sure the money is going the right place.

The people I ended up with, the last home I was placed in, didn’t really care what I did with my time. So when I ran, it wasn’t like they missed me; they missed the nice paycheck that arrived once a month. I ran with…unsavory crowds. I don’t know how else to phrase it. To a kid who had never really had a person to turn to, I didn’t really know what family was. Show even a modicum of care for a child who has felt unwanted for most of her life, and she’ll do anything for you. I…I don’t like talking about it. The psychologists told me that I should just move on with my life, and I have – really, I’m a functioning human being – but some things never leave you.

I lived on the streets for about…six years, I think? Knew I needed to get out, a very powerful man on my ass about joining him at the head of power or some bs that he thought might impress me. A man that you didn’t just say no to. I was 16, almost 17 at the time and I was at the prime of my power on the streets, but it was dwindling; the man only wanted one thing and if you give it up too much or don’t give it up at all, they get tired of you. Mine was the latter.

That was when I met Captain Anderson. He was already well known by then; the first N7 operative. Ran into him while I was trying to find some credit chits. He used to tell the story all the time, about how he tried to give me his change and instead I’d almost run off with his entire wallet. Anderson wasn’t big on making scenes though, so he stopped me before I could leave and instead of arresting me like he should have, he sat me down and paid for my dinner. Talked to me. It was the first time…the first time I felt _cared_ for.

That man…he was like a father to me when no one else was. Made sure to get my number, checked on me as much as he could when he was on Earth. He’s the reason I decided to enlist when I turned eighteen. If I could be half the person Anderson ever was, then I would be proud of myself. When I gave him the news he was absolutely ecstatic. To have someone tell you how proud they are of you…most people don’t understand that when you were put down for so long like I was, hearing those words makes you feel like you can do anything. And…I guess I did, in the end.


	2. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death is one of the few things that terrifies Commander Shepard. Died once, almost died again. And god, she dreads the day it comes looking for her again.

So things have been pretty quiet on my end lately…sorry about that. I read a couple of the questions and it brought up some…unexpected emotions. I thought I was over this. So many people have told me that this is normal, but I’m out of my element when I feel this – _vulnerable_ , I guess is the word.

The question was about my “alleged” death, the first one regarding the validity of the rumors.

Well, when I was running around trying to defeat the collectors, I thought that maybe I was on life support. Because as much money Cerberus might have had, there was no way they could bring me back from death, even with all their money and shiny tools. But when we hit their base before the battle on Earth, I learned that…I had virtually been burned to a crisp – coming in hot through an atmosphere can do that.

There was almost nothing left of me. Liara – Dr. Liara T’soni, the Prothean scientist who found the plans for the Crucible – she was the one who found me. She doesn’t like to talk about it very often; I can only imagine what it’s like, losing a friend and having to find them, the emotional toll it takes. But she’s let slip that I was…there was no way I was alive, in any way.

When we hit the Cerberus base before the battle of London, there were logs that shed a little more light on the subject. The doctor who was in charge before Miranda took over had no hope. None. Was sure that the millions and billions of dollars that the Illusive Man was spending was a pure waste of resources that could be helping protect colonies from collectors, could help prepare humanity from the impending threat of the reapers.

Miranda was the one who oversaw the rest of my procedures. Brought me back to life with everything intact, for the most part; there are times of my life that are blurrier, harder to remember. Kaidan’s good to me though, just smiles and talks it over with me until I have my light bulb moments. I have Miranda to thank for keeping me together, keeping me _me_. Especially when it seemed so impossible.

And the next question is my…uh…is my death. About it, I mean. I…this is the part that caused the radio silence. I’ve spent years trying to get over it, but I still wake up sometimes from…from nightmares. They warn you about PTSD long before you step foot in boot camp, but it’s not _real_ until it starts taking its toll on you.

Everyone already knows what happened. Standard patrol through the Omega Nebula, near planet Alchera. The council had already started to question the validity of the Reapers as the real threat and had ordered me and my crew to search for any more hostile geth. We hadn’t been deployed for more than a few weeks by the time the Collectors found us.

As much as I hate the collectors, I admire their weapons. We’ve learned how to utilize and defend against them now, but we were sitting ducks out there back then. Sliced right through our armor as if there weren’t years of work put into making it into the best. I had been on the crew deck when it happened, when Kaidan found me and tried to get me out…I almost listened, until he said that Joker was still trying to save the ship. I love the Normandy just as much as my crew, but it wasn’t worth throwing his life away for.

He survived, thankfully. I don’t think I would have forgiven myself if I’d let Joker die because of his love for the damn ship.

The next attack slice completely through the ship. Almost took out the last escape pod if I hadn’t hit the button. But something exploded and I was flying. I blacked out for a few minutes and…when I…when I came too, I was thrown far. And when I realized that my suit was leaking…

It’s…it was terrifying. I’d always thought I’d die in a gun fight, but this was…I want to take the high road and say it was humbling, but fuck that; it was scarring. Mentally. Emotionally. Everyone expects to hear the romanticized version of death: my life flashed before my eyes. I thought of everyone I loved. I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. No…death wasn’t any of those things.

It was terror. Pure, unadulterated terror. I can count the amount of times I’ve cried in my life on two hands and that is one of them. I remember clawing, my hands trying to find a solution. But it was slow; oxygen deprivation in a suit is…torture. There’s still enough for you to stay alive, just enough to keep you aware and panicked and _afraid_. I was still alive by the time I hit Alchera’s atmosphere, and all I remember is this burning before everything just went dark.

…I…like I said I…still have nightmares. I read your questions almost two weeks ago and I – I – goddammit, I said I wouldn’t fucking cry again.  It – it’s like I go through it all over again. Kaidan says that he can tell when I’m having one; my fingers claw at my throat and I’m gasping for air, even though there’s plenty. I can’t thank him enough for putting up with me for all these years. Without him I – I don’t know if I’d even be here.

It’s no secret that I almost died again after the Battle of London. I’m sure that if the newspapers and magazines were still running that the headline would have been “Shepard: Is she MIA? _Again_?” Kaidan might not have been the only one searching for me, but after I’d been found…I don’t even know how I survived, to tell you the truth. Here and now, Commander Shepard is saying that I have no fucking clue how I survived the Battle of London. I was stuck under rubble for days, _weeks_. When they brought me into the only running hospital for hundreds of miles, my cybernetics were failing, my leg was a lost cause, and my biotics implant was rattled by a knock to the head that probably should have taken out a Krogan.

When I finally woke up – almost two or three weeks later, I think – Kaidan was the one waiting for me. Others might have helped find me, but Kaidan was…he was my support. A big part of it was when I realized I’d lost my leg. I kept on turning help away, trying to figure everything out on my own, but he was the only one that kept on pushing. If he hadn’t…I was in a downward spiral at that point.

I…I thought about ending it. But the idea of dying was still a nightmare, so I was stuck in an in between, hoping that this was all some fucked up dream and that if I was lucky, I would wake up and everything would be okay.

Despite it all, I got my prosthetic and was put in therapy. My cybernetics were replaced when I was still unconscious and were likely the reason I survived at all; I can thank a fancy Asari doctor for those. As soon as I was approved for release, I got the hell out of there, but not without being advised by psychologists to take a long needed break. I was actually surprised when the council and Alliance both approved of my extended shore leave, for both Kaidan and me. Although I guess when you save the galaxy, you tend to rack up a few favors here and there.

Eventually though, I put back on the uniform. I was still damn good at my job, but nothing was…nothing was the same. Still wasn’t comfortable in a full breather helmet, sometimes I was suddenly struck with a panic attack – in or out of the field, it really didn’t discriminate.

Death was… _is_ my biggest fear. I’ve experienced it once in one of the worst ways possible, and when it comes for me again, I hope and pray that it’s quick and painless.


End file.
